NSFW
by Nightshadowmidnight
Summary: It appeared that John had... other blogs that Sherlock may find himself interested in. That'll teach him not to clear his internet history. (Maybe.) JohnLock oneshot.


**N.S.F.W**

_(**N**ot **S**uitable **F**or **W**atson)_

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**Summary**:

It appeared that John had... other blogs that Sherlock may find himself interested in. That'll teach him not to clear his internet history. (Maybe.) JohnLock oneshot.

...

_AN: Happy Birthday, Lydia! I hope that this has lived up to your expectations ^^_

_Just a warning that I have never written or read a Sherlock fanfiction before in my life... Unless you count like a couple chapters of some fics I've been shown and probably only skim-read. That and I had several frustrating blocks whilst writing this. So I have no experience and you can blame any OOC behaviour on that._

_Written by moi, Nightshadowmidnight, with the much needed help of (and inspiration from) Onemoremiracleforme. Thank you for your contributions!_

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Gloomy, depressing, dismal, murky, etc... Most would have used words along these lines to describe what was a particularly dark, rainy day in London. Sherlock Holmes, however, would have preferred to use something more like 'boring'.

Yup, once again the genius detective was lying about in 221B, slouched in an armchair with very little to keep himself occupied. His roommate wasn't even there to moan at him for leaving more 'experiments' lying around again and no one had been murdered for at least two weeks. It was hell.

Perhaps a good mystery would solve his boredom once again, he mused silently and cast his eyes across the room. Two laptops were present. One was within reach. Just.

Praise the Lord, the boredom would be conquered.

He lazily, lethargically, swung his arm over the side of the seat and made a grab for the laptop sat on the coffee table. He really didn't care whose it was. _Any_ form of internet-connecting device would do right now.

Swinging the computer onto his lap, Sherlock flipped the screen open and started it up, quickly able to deduce that the laptop was John's. The lettering of the keys were worn and fading, slightly scratched and were obviously used frequently and therefore it could only have belonged to the dedicated blogger. Though the thought made his brow crease. It was certainly a little strange. His roommate had taken to spending hours upon hours on end sat at that little laptop of his and typing away at it furiously, staring at that luminous screen with a look of concentration - even when there _hadn't _been a case for the great detective himself to work on. What had his excuse been again?

_"Oh, this? About that, I'm making drafts before I publish anything."_

He'd never taken such care over his entries before, had he?

_"What do you mean? I'm trying to capture the **detail** of the situation. The readers love it you know._"

Surely John knew in the back of his mind that his explanations wouldn't wash. Surely he remembered that he was flatmates with none other than _the _Sherlock Holmes; _master_ in the art of observation.

He found himself mulling this over in his head until the computer was fully loaded and the internet opened up to begin his search. Scrolling down the latest news articles and websites would sometimes prove useful and he would be rewarded with something to at least think into, so of course the man got to work right away and opened up the history tab where all his preferred sites would be listed. But it was then that something else caught his eye. Something unusual, out of place and something just downright... weird.

A blog?

Yes, yes, yes, he realised that he was in fact using the laptop of his resident blogger, but... John never ventured on to any but his own. Did he?

There was a scoff. Maybe the blogger just never told him about anything. Maybe he was interested in others works, maybe he had a favourite blogger and his own project was inspired by others. Maybe he had a whole other world that he just had never bothered to tell Sherlock about. And he would be a filthy liar to say that that thought didn't bother him. Did it never occur to John that perhaps he actually might _want_ to hear about something like that for a change?

(Yet it would never occur to Sherlock himself that maybe he was feeling a tiny bit annoyed at not being more involved in John's life.)

But anyway, with the out of place blog in question beginning to pique at his curiosity, Sherlock frowned slightly again and decided to investigate this new little mystery. The images loaded on the screen within a second of him clicking the link.

He paled.

A slamming sound followed but a second after, echoing through the room as the laptop was quickly slammed shut.

An uncomfortable moment of silence passed as Sherlock silently attempted to calm himself and he stared warily at the computer resting on his knees as if it were some sort of hazardous, radiation-emitting piece of machinery that had him frozen on the spot.

It... It couldn't be... Right? N-Not that... Of course, this was _John's_ laptop, right? Somebody such as John Watson wouldn't have such _things_ lurking about in his browser history. Right?

Of course, the detective decided, the lack of sleep lately must have been getting to him. His brain was a delicate thing and the restless nights must have thrown it off. As if to prove this to himself, Sherlock once more flipped the laptop open. However, it was promptly closed shut again, though the images were burned into the front of his mind.

Shirtless, sweaty skin upon more shirtless, sweaty, naked skin. Oh dear God it was true.

Sitting there in complete silence he took a calming breath and tried to comprehend what he had just seen.

Porn.

Porn, porn, porn.

**_Porn._**

Oh, John had a whole other world alright. A whole other world of sketchiness and perverseness and _downright inappropriateness!_

John had a porn blog. _John_. _John Watson._ Mr knitted sweaters and cups of tea and so-called harmless blogger.

(Well not anymore. And he didn't know how to handle that.)

Tentatively, Sherlock Holmes reached for the lid of the computer once again and gingerly closed his fingers around the edge. In this new state of newfound shock he found himself daring enough to take perhaps just one more little, tiny peek... Maybe he really _was _hallucinating or something? Maybe his eyes were just playing yet more tricks on him...

He took a sharp intake of breath that caught in the back of his throat and caused him to choke. Violently.

That blasted page had in the process somehow refreshed itself and there was now a moving image before him of two naked, burly men doing unspeakable things to each other that would have Mrs Hudson passed out cold on the floor by now.

But he was no Mrs Hudson.

Calming his sudden fit of spluttery coughs, Sherlock focused on the screen again, still unable to process it all. Mouth hung slightly open and eyes as wide as humanly possible, he found himself unable to turn away, unable to yank his eyes from the uncomfortable image and just leave while he still could. In truth that would probably be for the best. If he got that far then he could possibly begin trying to wipe the whole experience from his brain.

So why the hell did he find himself scrolling down the page?

In all seriousness, Sherlock _was_ in the slightest bit curious as to what his flatmate was exactly watching on this dodgy website (come on, what healthy grown male wouldn't regardless of slight sociopathic tendencies?). Especially if this was what he meant by 'capturing the detail'. _(Such, such detail!) _And why did he even _have _such a webpage in his history? Were the constant rejections from each of his dates beginning to get to him? Did being single for so long have him all hot and bothered? The word 'single' sounded in his brain multiple times - the one piece of information he for some reason was never able to delete.

A strange sort of whine sounded within his throat without warning at the thought and he felt something stir deep in the pit of his stomach, yet he couldn't begin to even think about the cause of it as more and more obscene images met his eyesight. Drawings, GIFs, video links - they all worked to cause yet another very un-Sherlock-like whimper to escape his dry lips and he found himself unable to scroll down any further.

Not that he would have anyway as that moment there was a banging sound from downstairs as the front door shut followed by footsteps that neared the lounge. Determined not to be caught on such a filthy site, Sherlock was quick to close the offending device before it could be seen, but barely had any time to place it back on the table where it belonged before the door swung open and in walked the secret porn blogger himself.

"Ah, Sherlock," he said jovially despite the fact that he was soaking wet having been strolling about in the cold, wet weather. "You've actually moved in the time I've been gone..." he muttered mostly to himself and wandered over to the kitchen, placing the several plastic bags he'd been carrying onto the counter before going to hang up his raincoat. Sherlock merely blanked out his words, at a loss for what to do or even what to say.

It was when his mind finally started to come together again that John had causally strolled over to the seat, swiftly leaned down to take the computer and gone over to the desk. The situation now out of his hands, the detective merely sat in silence and waited for it.

A click broke through the quiet as the lid was opened and somewhere a clock was ticking, counting down the seconds until-

"Um... Sherlock..."

Clearing his throat, he made the effort to steady his voice. "Yes?"

John shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Were you, uh... Were you looking at porn... On my laptop?"

Was _he _accusing _him?_ Temporarily forgetting the effect those images had had on him, Sherlock raised an eyebrow and turned his head to send the other a knowing look. Realising that the jig was up, John let out a loud breath and averted his eyes to the floor. "Oh Jesus."

"To pretend that it was in fact me on such a pornographic website is possibly your most idiotic idea ever."

"Ah _hell._"

Sherlock turned back and began to stare at the wall rather than watch his roommates' suffering. "You really ought to delete your history every once in a while."

Nothing was said in reply and for a little while the detective began to wonder if the other was purposely ignoring him. That is until there was a loud sigh in what appeared to be exasperation. John - not bothering to shut down the computer _or _to get rid of the dirty GIFs moving on the screen - shook his head rapidly and stood up.

"Nope," he began, trying to keep his voice calm, "nope you're right. You're right. It was stupid of me." He paused and watched as Sherlock - taken aback completely - faced him once again. "And, um," he fought to find the right words in his brain, "well, I'd appreciate it if you would care to 'delete' that little piece of info from your brilliant mind or whatever because to be honest I didn't plan on sharing my internet history with you today."

Sherlock chose to ignore the fact that John's choice of wording (had he really said 'brilliant mind' with such enthusiasm?) had struck something within him and managed to speak normally. "And why would I do that, Watson? Such knowledge could come in useful from time to time."

Behind him John began to choke.

(Well, he'd been thinking more along the lines of blackmail, but if that's what his roommate wanted to think...)

Sighing, he rubbed his temples. His mind really was shattered today and he felt a headache threatening to come on as John recovered and once more - in a sudden surge of panic - went on the defensive.

"Anyway, that's private! It's meant to be _private!" _He emphasised as if his first sentence had gone unheard. "Why are you even going on _my _laptop when your one is _right there?"_

Sherlock lazily shifted his head to glance at his own computer. "It made more sense to take whichever was closest." He stated. "And I needed to check the news webpages." (An exasperated sigh sounded from the other man) "Besides," the detective continued, "I would never have predicted you to lurk on such a salacious-"

"Well maybe I wouldn't _have_ to go on that site if-"

That caught the man's attention. Sherlock eyed John with a new sense of curiosity. The blogger was just sat there, trying to keep his dignity intact after the strange little outburst. By the looks of it he wasn't doing so well, his face suddenly very flushed and breathing very erratic.

He wouldn't have to go on if... _What?_

Sherlock's mind quickly went back to all those dates he'd had and those that had been rejected and he suddenly found himself feeling very uncomfortable again. Why the hell couldn't he delete whatever emotion it was that accompanied thoughts revolving about John's romantic life. All those women - some far too shabby, some far too posh, too chatty, too friendly, too flirty, flaunty, suggestive... They weren't what he expected John to go looking for. Though that thought in itself begged the question; what was it that he expected John to go looking for? Somehow all those others never seemed good enough, never seemed to be the type that John could take for himself. But, then again, John had seen just about every type of woman London had to offer and still none of them appeared to fit.

God damn it why did such a simple little question turn into such a big deal?

Sherlock tried his best to supress a somewhat humourless chuckle. Whoever ended up dating his flatmate would have to be able to accept the explicit content that was still being displayed on the man's laptop. He stole a glance at it and somehow (really, he wasn't even sure how he did it )he managed to deal with the GIFs of homo-erotica he saw when only a moment ago he had felt like tossing the blasted computer through the window. Shaking his head to himself he wondered what on Earth had even bothered him about it in the first place and-

God damn it what the hell was he even thinking? There were naked men pleasuring each other practically in front of his very _eyes _whilst John – _John _– stared at it without even batting a fucking _eyelid! _He watched as the man in the sweater slowly moved to continue scrolling down the page, not at all bothered by being met with more smut and genitalia that- Hold the fuck up was that a _like _button he just clicked on?

"Sherlock," he said suddenly and surprisingly calmly.

He pretended to sound uninterested. "Mmm?"

"Uh…" He glanced over a second too late to see Sherlock avert his eyes from the screen. "I'd, um…" There was a pause as he searched for the words and during which the detective flicked his eyes back over again, sensing something important could possibly be coming.

"Let me guess," he interrupted, sensing the man's struggle. "You'd prefer me not to mention this to anyone?"

A nod. "That would be appreciated, yes."

"As I thought." And he casually slumped down in his seat, leaning his head on the back of the armchair in an attempt to look more relaxed. "I doubt anyone would be wildly interested in your fancy for homosexual pornography."

And now a splutter. "Who-Wh-Who said that I had a fancy for gay porn?"

Now this was just getting ridiculous, Sherlock noted and he sighed in exasperation. "Watson," he began, not even moving to look him in the eye anymore. "You appear to be in a state of denial."

"Denial?"

"You even said yourself: it's _private. _It's your 'alone time' material."

"Now, look, I…" John paused, stopping himself mid-sentence before exhaling loudly. Sherlock watched as he searched to find his reply before exhaling once more and deciding to just give in. "Sherlock…" his tone was low and heavy. "Okay, fine. There's no hiding anything from you, so yes, yes, this is my alone time material."

The detective made a humming sound almost as if indicating that he had been right all along. "Sexual frustration, Watson. Nothing good can ever come out of it."

John was quick to argue, his voice sharp and irritable. "Hey, _you-"_ And he stopped, suddenly very looking very guilty and as if he had just let something mind-blowing slip. Before the other could even question it though, he turned back – the computer and the smutty filth being the only other distraction in the room – and allowed an awful, suffocating silence to consume the room.

Second ticked by, minutes even, and the atmosphere grew more and more tense – tense enough even that even the detective could no longer bear it. He could no longer even feel relaxed enough to contemplate the possible meaning of John's minor 'slip up' and - feeling more than a little uncomfortable - he slowly returned his gaze from the site and forced himself to make some sort of comment to break the ice a little. The image before his eyes presented a possible topic of discussion.

"I fail to see how such a position is even possible."

_Dammit not a comment like that. How bloody stupid was he?_

John, however, was unfazed and replied as if he were talking about something trivial - the weather for example. He most probably had no idea what else to say. "What? Oh of course it is."

His genius brain still baffled by the logic of such an _entanglement, _he couldn't help but question once more. "But-"

_"Honestly,_ Sherlock, do you have to make such a big deal out of this or- or do I have to show you myself?!"

Ah.

That would be those implications behind John's earlier comment.

You could practically _hear _the pieces falling into place one by one, slotting together like pieces of a puzzle and audible even over John's (most likely) pulsing heart rate.

The (now scarlet) man stuttered hopelessly, embarrassment the only word that could have possibly been used to describe his expression. "That... That slipped out. I'll admit that that slipped out- uh..."

"John."

Silence reigned as the man's broken sentences ceased and the detective slowly rose from his chair. John stared up in anticipation, mentally panicking over what might be said.

"You look like a fool when you stutter."

And with that one simple statement something snapped and John, suddenly sensing anger well up within his chest, also stood and found himself having to bite back several curses from rolling off his tongue, knowing that the use of vulgar language would be a very futile tactic against such a mastermind.

_"**That's **all you have to say?"_

Sherlock failed to let any sort of surprise shine through his composure. "I'm sorry?" He said in much the same way as before, in some ways tempted to tease the man and feed the fire to his annoyance a little more before giving in.

John looked for a moment as though he'd been slapped in the face, yet still met the detective with another outraged yell. _"**Sorry? Sorry**, Sherlock?" _He let out a short, almost bitter-sounding laugh. "I can't believe you! I can _never, **ever **_believe _anything _you ever have to say, you know that, right? I… I…" he hesitated, swallowing thickly. "I basically…"

"You _basically_ admit a - so far, until now - hidden desire which may or may _not_ be related to your hobby of pornographic blogging – though, I do not for a moment doubt that there is a connection – and I don't seem to respond with the answer that you had hoped, correct?"

John's head hung low, knowing again that attempting to hide anything from Sherlock Holmes wasn't an option.

"Listen, Sherlock, please, I…" There was a pause and John breathed deeply, clasping his hands together out of nervous habit as he gathered up the courage to continue. "I have dealt with this for… months. Months on end now, Sherlock." He shook his head, a small smile just about twitching at the corners of his mouth, but whether out of happiness, amusement or otherwise was not clear. "And… None of my dates have worked. None of them. And I've been trying and trying to sort everything out logically, but… I can't. I just- just can't. This is _completely _new to me."

There was a brief pause during which, rather taken aback by just how much John had opened up to him, Sherlock stared at the man in a sort of admiration, but also concern. Was he allowing him in on secrets that clearly troubled him out of trust..? Or was he so defeated after the events that had occurred merely a few minutes ago that he couldn't find the will to bottle everything up again?

But then again there was also the fact that his flatmate – _John Watson – _had just admitted a sexual desire for him that couldn't be taken back.

And then… There was that odd, strange, _strange _sensation that couldn't quite be pushed down…

Anxiety?

Anticipation?

(…something more_?_)

Sherlock was brought out from his thoughts by another chuckle from the man in front of him.

"It's mind-blowing. Really." He said as if nothing had occurred between them seconds ago. "I really can _never _tell what you're thinking."

And in an equally casual way, Sherlock couldn't help but let a tiny chuckle arise. "But, my dear Watson, isn't that was makes everything so interesting?"

A laugh and a nod of agreement erupted from John's lips and truthfully it was quite pleasant to see such an expression on the man's face considering the state he had been earlier – and it was so pleasant in fact that it was hard even for the detective not to share it.

John nodded again, looking more positive and all anger having vanished completely. "Well this went better than I thought." He muttered, scratching the back of his head absent mindedly before staring up at the other.

And then (once more) there was quiet as their eyes met.

Sherlock felt like frowning in confusion as it proved impossible to tear away, but couldn't.

Never breaking eye contact, John subconsciously took a step forward.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

This time he at least managed to raise an eyebrow. "Thank you for wha-_a_-_!_"

The movement as John stepped forward and grabbed the collar of his shirt was too sudden for Sherlock's brain to react and before he knew it the blogger had roughly pushed their lips together and was hungrily kissing him.

The first thing that Sherlock felt was something close to alarm, yet oddly he quickly relaxed as their lips melded together so comfortably and as John's hand came to pull him closer. It was a… different, yet strangely pleasant sensation as John slowly worked his way inside to let their tongues meet which of course begged the question: When did he even let his mouth slide open in the first place?

And more to the point, should he be worried that he couldn't find it in himself to move away?

…Surely he owed the man a release after all this time of pent-up attraction?

John let out a soft moan and something within Sherlock's cold being sparked up into life.

Ah, what was he thinking? He liked it. He liked it a lot and that was why he rolled his eyes from beneath his eyelids and kissed back.

John seemed surprised at first as he felt a response to his actions and stiffened as Sherlock's fingertips brushed up his arms in a gentle motion. He grinned against the other's mouth as he took a breath before deepening their kiss which instantly became rougher, hungrier and far more passionate than he had ever intended the gesture to go.

And so it came as no surprise to either of them when ten minutes later they were on the floor; panting, rolling, biting, and kissing; a tube of lubricant rolling to the side. (Honestly though, the fact that John had seemingly whipped the tube out of thin air should have had Sherlock worried, but truthfully he couldn't seem to concentrate on a lot of other things at the moment.)

Things were a blur. Neither had any idea of how long had passed, but something had built up within both of them and they felt a new, desperate sense of longing for no one but each other. Sherlock had already begun to break a sweat having been subjected to such unfamiliar, physical behaviour. He felt something stir and discovered it slightly alarming to find that the feeling was welling up farther south.

_"Ah, hell-!" _There was a grunt and a few choice curse words as John rather suddenly sat up, ripping the sweater from his body which landed on the floor beside them – shortly followed of course by other garments of clothing. Things were going quickly – _very _quickly – Sherlock noticed as he soon found himself half-naked and, his sight clear again after his shirt was pulled over his head, faced with his flatmate knelt before him wearing nothing but the –

Okay. Nothing at all. John was fully naked and something about that put him in a trance so deep that all he could do was lay back dumbfounded as he was roughly undressed by the other. Hands and lips – and was that a _tongue? _ – roamed their way across his body and, though he held it back, he let out a moan at John's touch. His eyes glazed and his mind not even lucid enough to properly question anything that was happening, he didn't even realise that he was being roughly manhandled and forced onto his knees.

Any and all coherent thoughts left his dazed brain, leaving behind only the frazzled, frantic and rather unfamiliar ones.

_'__Naked... Penis... John... Penis..._ **John's** _penis...'_

This wasn't a dream, was it? He wasn't whacked up or anything, was he? Couldn't he be-

_"Oomph-!"_

Nope. He decided as he felt John ram his way in that this was _not_ some drug-induced hallucination.

He couldn't see what his roommate was doing, but he felt every movement, every shift and shudder and he almost cried out when he felt… Well… When he felt just how unbelievable this experience was.

"You-You told me…" John panted loudly, still rocking back and forth and forcing himself further and further in. "You said that you didn't understand the _position-!" _He cut off to groan loudly – a reaction that Sherlock simultaneously matched as he found himself daring enough to roll back his hips.

_"Show me."_

John was glad to accept the challenge. However, when he did it became hard enough for the detective to not to react to his own desires. They were new, exciting and they overwhelmed his sense to the point where he couldn't stand to just wait a moment longer. With an urge that even surprised him, Sherlock was quick to edge forwards, faintly hearing a moaning in the background as John was forced to retract himself, and roughly shoved the other man to the ground. Taken aback by the sudden change in position, John could do little but lie in wait. Seconds later, he groaned loudly as he felt the man do his magic.

"Sherlock Holmes," John grunted through ragged breaths and the insane sensation of pleasure that swept over him. "Sociopath, genius... _complete_ nutter... _And currently with his cock up my arse!"_

Sherlock allowed himself to grin with the comfort that the extent of his joy could not be seen.

And minutes later, both of them having fallen from their highs and lying side by side on the floor of their flat, the detective sighed loudly in content.

"So…" he began, glancing up at the laptop that sat, abandoned on the desk. "That's how it's done."

"Sherlock, shut up."


End file.
